You were sitting cross-legged near the lake, twisting a blade of grass between your fingers. Hermione was leaning against a nearby tree, her book propped open on her knees.

Neville stood at the edge of the lake with his feet sunk ankle-deep in the cool water. He looked unusually relaxed with his sleeves rolled up and his eyes fixed on the rippling surface.

You broke the silence first. “Hermione?” you asked, not quite looking at her.

“Mm?” she responded without lifting her eyes from the page.

“Do you think I’m weird?”

There was a beat of silence. Then Hermione glanced up, arching an eyebrow. “Oh yeah,” she said. “You are weird. A lot.”

“Am I?” you murmured.

Neville slowly turned his head, his eyes wide as if he hadn’t meant to listen but couldn’t help it. His cheeks flushed instantly and he averted his gaze towards the water.

“Yeah,” he said. “But so what? Everybody’s weird.”

You looked at him. The way his shoulders were hunched, the way his feet were making little swirls in the lake and the way his ears had turned pink all the way to the tips made something in your chest ache and flutter at the same time.

“Do you think weird is... bad?” you asked.

Neville glanced up, meeting your eyes for just a moment before looking away again. “No,” he said. “I think it’s kind of... nice.”

Hermione made a small “hmm” noise behind her book. “To be honest,” she added without looking up, “most of the people who aren’t weird are terribly boring.”

You smiled a little. “So I’m not boring.”

“Merlin, no,” Hermione said flatly.

Neville chuckled softly. “Definitely not boring.”